


Samhain's Chant

by Superficial



Category: For Honor (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Rite of Champions Fanfic Contest, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 13:39:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15050300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superficial/pseuds/Superficial
Summary: Her chant was the last thing Samhain the Shaman’s enemies would ever hear.Originally written for the For Honor: Rite of Champions Fanfiction Contest





	Samhain's Chant

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and submitted for For Honor’s Rite of Champions Fanfiction Contest; the prompt being, “Her chant was the last thing Samhain the Shaman’s enemies would ever hear.” 500 word limit.
> 
> Birger was actually a reused character from another piece of my For Honor writings. He got reused here in a much different capacity in the sake of time and lack of my own creativity.
> 
> Thanks to Breezytealy, Englishybutter, and one of my real-life co-workers for the beta. This iteration is as it was submitted to Ubisoft, differing just slightly from the un-revised version on Reddit.

Birger doesn’t like Einar as soon as he arrives at the fire pit. A warrior type, Birger thinks, trying to mimic the Raiders of yore, but lacking the finesse—the clean-cut kill—to get that far. There’s red on the man’s hands; a far cry from the plough-formed calluses and soil underneath Birger’s nails. A farmer would provide food for his lands while the rest would wet the earth with others’ blood.

Einar was a coward, and the whole of Valkenheim knew it.

“Little one doing alright?” Einar asks, grabbing a shank of boar he surely did not deserve.

Birger shrugs, poking at the coals. “We get on well enough.”

“Ah, that’s right. Samhain left, didn’t she? Not a motherly bone in her body, that one. Don’t know what you saw in her.” The warrior sinks his teeth into his prize, juices dripping down his chin to tangle in his beard. There’s a lecherous grin when he raises his eyebrows. “Unless it’s true what they say about crazy girls?”

Birger shoots him a look, but says nothing.

Indeed, Samhain had no concept of motherhood—barely had the concept of speech. No, the Shamans had a greater calling—part of the  _úlfheðnar_ —her screams erupting with a wolf-borne howl. She knew no words because she spoke in the tongue of the Gods. She shared no love because her heart held room for none but them.

Birger remembers naught but the smell of the Wilds on her oiled scalp—of ragged fingers adorning her belt.

“Samhain comes and goes as she pleases. You returned from Ashfeld?”

Einar chuckles, sucking the roasted fat from his fingertips.

“What does a farm boy like you know about Ashfeld? Now, I ain’t no milksop, but those Knights don’t take no for an answer. I said what I needed to to get out alive.”

Birger’s eyes narrow.

“You gave them information.”

From the forest behind them, he can hear it; two blades striking together in totemic cacophony.

_Clang. Clang._

Samhain’s chant can be heard all the way up  _Yggdrasil_. She never did take well to traitors.

There’s motion in the darkness—a rustle of leaves from the snowy brush. Birger squints against the ebbing dusk to catch a glimpse of smudged kohl and the flicker of a tongue over teeth.

“Won’t do them good. Tide’ll turn once your girl stops playing in the woods.” The other man laughs. “Touched in the head, ain’t she? Can’t wait to hear what gibberish she spews from her mouth this time. ”

Birger wets dry lips, the eyes peeking through the thick-lined leaves vanishing with a blink. The clash of steel on steel echos in his brain—and there’s glint of light in the darkness.

“No,” Birger replies, his gaze squaring with the man in front of him. “Samhain’s chant is the last thing you’ll hear.”

He watches as a hatchet cleaves through Einar’s skull.


End file.
